


Wish You Were Here

by The_Quartermasters



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quartermasters/pseuds/The_Quartermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years in to the waiting, they wouldn't be able to keep it together if they didn't have each other. Written February 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish You Were Here

There was something to be grateful for in the tentative 'alliance' between the Kokuyo and the Vongola -- which was the money. If nothing else, the occasional hit that was requested of Chikusa, Ken, MM and Chrome kept them from being trapped in menial jobs or from resettling in the ruins of their old hiding places. The worst part of the alliance, Ken thought and voiced his complaints regularly about, was the ties. Being forced to dress like mafia, to essentially pretend to be mafia, to wear suits for the sake of killing people... if it weren't for Mukuro's sporadic visits keeping Ken in his place, there might have been a mutiny over the new 'uniform'.  
Their small base, provided by the Vongola in Japan was modest but it was better than the streets. And there were also times like these when orders would come in from Iemitsu or Basil. A name and a photo, a city somewhere far away. A few plane tickets and a reservation in a hotel for an unspecified length of time. It had taken time for Chikusa to train Ken into being able to perform reconnaissance but after a while, the art of stalking prey came to him naturally and he was even able to learn to keep his mouth shut on more inconspicuous evenings.

A month in Venice here, a week in Hokkaido there. Six weeks and three murders in Hong Kong. Their knowledge about their victims was limited but the only motivation necessary was that each hit brought them closer to the downfall of an enemy organization and the eventual release of Mukuro. Eight years of imprisonment, eight years of nothing but illusions and never a solid touch. Never a hesitation for the blood on their hands if it meant they might hear Mukuro's voice in their ears rather than their minds.

It was their third week in Rome and the apartment Iemitsu had arranged for them would have been destroyed by Ken's bad habits if it weren't for Chikusa keeping things tidy. Endless boxes of Chinese take out laughed in the face of the fine Italian cuisine available down the road. It was four AM when the key slid tiredly into the lock and the heavy door swung open.

Ken shoved past him, through the door before he'd even had a chance to take the keys out, and the metal sliding forcefully from his fingers stung enough to make Chikusa frown. He said nothing though, as he followed him in, retrieving the keys and hanging his jacket on the hook by the door. He'd take a trip to the dry cleaner's tomorrow, he decided, frowning at the still-damp stains on his cuffs and hem. For now, the bath was calling, and they needed to perform a familiar ritual -- determining how much of the blood on their clothes belonged to them or someone else.

"Ken, come here."

The other man had his hand on the fridge door while the other clumsily pried loose his tie when he looked over his shoulder questioningly at Chikusa. He pulled the tie over his head and dropped it on the kitchen floor before returning to the small front room. His face was bruised and his hair was mussed, both flecked with drops of blood. It stained around his mouth in spite of best efforts to wipe away where a victim's jugular had bubbled hot under his pressure of his wolf channel's bite. He grinned Cheshire up Chikusa and reached for his tie, still neat and prim and pulled it loose.

"I have to make sure you aren't hurt," the taller man frowned, taking hold of Ken's creeping hands. "It's not time for play. Come to the bath with me."

Ken scowled faintly but he gave a pouting little sigh that let Chikusa know he would obey for the moment. He ducked in to the kitchen again and returned with a bottle of the fancy sparkling water that was so common in the region. He took a long drink, licked at the corner of his own mouth and handed the bottle to his partner as he followed him to the bath. "It was a good fight," he growled and caught the back of Chikusa's shirt in his free hand, following almost closely enough to trip him up.

Chikusa nodded and took a drink, washing the flavor of blood from his own mouth with a long swallow. He knew that Ken had a taste for it, but he would just as soon sweep away that lingering reminder of the work they did. Killing time more than people, waiting for the Vongola to decide it was in their best interests to break Mukuro out of the Vindice prison. "It was," he agreed, even if his enthusiasm didn't quite match Ken's.

Once in the small, tiled room, he set down the bottle and turned to his partner with a critical eye. "Take off your shirt, please."

The slighter man stuck out his tongue but he complied, tugging loose buttons. The front of his shirt was a v of blood spatters, his jacket and tie a stencil for the crimson spray. One sleeve was saturated at the shoulder. His jacket had been thrown away, ruined in the shred of a blade when a victim had managed to get through Ken's defenses. When he let the shirt slide away, the cut shoulder was revealed -- it wasn't too bad, only a surface wound but it still slowly dripped fresh blood. Ken didn't seem to even notice it, too preoccupied with grinning up at Chikusa. "Kakipii too," he purred.

"Get the kit," Chikusa insisted, already pulling loose the buttons of his shirt. His own injuries were minor, cuts and scrapes, bruises that nothing could be done for but waiting. Waiting. He was tired of waiting, but it wouldn't do any good to say so, not when he already knew Ken felt the same and when mentioning Mukuro only meant an inevitable shift in the blond's mood. Chikusa was worn enough tonight as it was. "Sit here," he directed, indicating the edge of the tub. Their time in Japan had spoiled him for the Eastern-style baths, but they could make do with the claw foot tub and the removable shower head, washing up as well as possible before the bath Chikusa's tired body already craved.

"It's hardly anything," Ken complained but he sat none the less and let Chikusa look at the wound and hissed quietly when the sting of antiseptic penetrated the cut. He felt Ken's eyes on him as he went about the studious task of keeping them both safe and clean, always taking charge of the things that Ken would ignore and lead to their inevitable destruction. With his head down in concentration, he only noticed the other's movement when the blood-stained knit cap slid from his head and Ken's nose nuzzled into his hair. Breathed him deeply. "Kakipii smells like blood," he murmured.

"That's only to be expected," Chikusa pointed out, finishing the last of the stitches and pausing snip the thread. "We just killed five men."

"Mmm." He felt the points of Ken's teeth resting lightly against his scalp when he grinned. His breath was hot in Chikusa's hair as he nosed deeper, smelling and breathing. Clawed fingers closed around Chikusa's wrist when he reached again for the first aid kit. A sniff at his temple. And then the warmth of Ken's tongue reached his skin, licking out softly over an abraision there.

For a moment, only a beat, Chikusa closed his eyes, let himself feel the sweep of Ken's tongue, but then he shook himself free from the moment and coaxed Ken's hands from his neck. "The pants too," he insisted. "Mukuro-san would never forgive me if I didn't properly look after us."

There was a quiet grumble but again Ken paused to squirm out of his slacks and kick them away. He let Chikusa get a quick look at him, unmarred but for new bruises that would come up angry and purple in the morning. When he'd had his look, Ken caught his eye. Fingers curled around his belt, easing him closer. "Me too," he said quietly and he arched his neck to press a kiss to Chikusa's mouth.

Chikusa kissed him back, but only perfunctorily, distracted by the duty he felt compelled to carry out before even considering giving in to other needs. "Okay," he nodded, standing to undo his own belt, letting his slacks drop to the floor before stepping out of them, turning around once to give Ken a quick look, knowing he'd find nothing but bruises of his own. "We're okay," he said, redundant perhaps, but sometimes it was good to speak it aloud. "A successful mission."

Ken gave a raspy laugh, grinning up at Chikusa as though he never understood the brevity of the fact that they'd narrowly escaped death. Or perhaps it was simply that it didn't matter, that their lives meant so little without Mukuro and were a trifle to pay if it were to set him free. "Now, reward," Ken said, eyes warm with the afterglow of a good kill. With no more excuses or delays, he rose and took Chikusa's wrists and pushed him to sit where he'd been a moment before. All dark skin peppered with pink scars, lithe and compact, his partner loomed over him, nose to nose. Another sniff and he licked Chikusa's cheek, licked the years-old barcode that reminded them always of their past as much as Ken's own scars did. He licked away the blood spatters over Chikusa's unbroken skin. "Theirs," he said, something of a game for him. Sniff. Delicately he licked a single drop and it was soaked on to his thirsty tongue. "Mine." Then grinning, he licked a softly oozing cut. "Mine too."

Despite himself, Chikusa felt a shiver pass through him, Ken's attention always pushy, demanding, taking things he had no invitation to take, staking claims that belonged first and always to Mukuro. But Chikusa didn't correct him, didn't push him away now. His duty to their self-preservation was done for the evening, and despite his unchanging exterior, even he had needs. Needs that Ken could --and was more than happy to-- fill. This was Ken's part of the promise to keep them alive for the day they would have Mukuro back. Chikusa would never deny him, even in spite of his own occasional reluctance. "Here," he directed, thin fingers tracing his own throat, to the stains he knew had soaked down his collar.

Clawed hands rested on either side of Chikusa's pale thighs, curled lightly around the porcelain lip. Ken's tongue was warm, wet, gentle as he obeyed, pausing to clean a scrape on Chikusa's jaw. Their blood had flowed, had surged for battle but it was time for it to surge for other things. To forget for a moment their misery and the loneliness of living without Mukuro. With one more task done, one more step climbed.... Ken's mouth opened over his skin, teeth grazing and tongue lapping along the stretched tendons.

Ken knew him, his touch familiar, skillfully seeking out just the right places even before breaking the impenetrable surface of Chikusa. Had it been so many years before that the wild boy had first cornered him like this? "Mukuro-san wants us to be happy," he had whispered, flushed and embarrassed and wanting. And Chikusa had been so uncertain then, had to be coaxed and convinced, opened up a little at a time... and when Mukuro had learned of it? Chikusa hardly remembered a moment as embarrassing as that. And even his ever-stony face had recalled how to blush when phantom hands touched his mind, encouraged him to touch Ken.

Now, Mukuro was not here, but then, they'd lost count of the number of times this had happened, the times they'd fallen into bed together after a fight, after a long day, after a dream of Mukuro -- real or imagined by their own lonely psyche. "Mukuro-san wants us to be happy," Chikusa whispered, recalling Ken's words, reminding him, so they could both imagine the approval of their absent master.

"Yeah," Ken agreed in a quiet, breathy voice. A kiss at throat, at shoulder and collarbone. Time had trained him to behave, to be slow when the situation warranted. To taste and lick in his own demanding way. His blood-stained hands were warm as they slid over Chikusa's pale skin, claws tickling, dragging, raising goosebumps on his thighs and up his sides. Ken sank to his knees between his partner's thighs and his tongue traced the contour of muscle that was hidden by Chisuka's tall, slender frame. The memory was fresh of that tongue and teeth dripping with blood, the wildness in him just as raw as when they were children when the taste of death was on his tongue.

"Ken," he breathed, reaching out to find Ken's hair, the barrettes he still wore after so many years, as though Mukuro wouldn't recognize him without them. Now, though, Chikusa plucked them free one by one, dropping them to the floor where they'd find them again later. Without them, Ken's choppy hair fell in his eyes, wild and rakish and Chikusa liked it though he didn't say so. "Do you want to come inside me?" he asked instead, thumb touching the place on his cheek where each channel would appear when Ken was fighting.

Ken blinked up at him and flushed faintly at the edges of the scar that raked across his face. In spite of his own brash personality, Chikusa's straightforward nature when it came to sex more often than not left him a bit embarrassed and off balance. "Mm," he answered nonetheless, affirmative and he turned his head to nuzzle into the other's palm. Then brown eyes watched his face as he slid lower, lips finding their way to the inside of a thigh. Kissing, licking slowly. Still blood-flecked, still battle flushed as he worked inward. And warm breath soaked the front of Chikusa's undergarments, nosing there, breathing him there, licking once through the fabric.

Despite the unreadable expression which watched Ken with, his body stirred under the other's attention. It was always like that. It was only here, together this way, that it was possible to get a reaction out of the bespeckled man and he knew Ken liked to do it. "Help me get ready," he ordered, fingers still tangling idly in blond hair. He stood briefly, shimmying out of his underwear, letting Ken pull it past his knees, toss it away. He wasn't hard yet as he settled back on the edge of the tub, but he would be soon, Ken would see to that. He curled forward, hands on Ken's shoulders as he guided him back.

The other grinned feral, taking pleasure in the game of making his Kakipii *want* it, a strange and unusual patience that they'd found in Ken. His tongue led, looking for a new taste for the evening, reaching for Chikusa's slowly stirring arousal and licking across his tip. He watched the other's face, always rapt for the tiny flickers that had to be wrung from him. Small shivers or millisecond long flinches. Knowing Chikusa was a science. His sharp nails were carefully held when he curled his grip around the other, coaxing him harder, tongue sliding out and swirling around the head, promising more wet warmth as the reward for arousal.

Chikusa only bit his lip when he knew Ken wasn't watching, letting his lips part instead, a breath that dried his tongue when Ken looked up again, and he could see the way he entered that mouth, full of dangerous teeth, bared gently. He'd had to teach him, train him, before the risk became small enough to chance such activities. Now, though, he was good at it. Very good. Good enough so that --to Chikusa's chagrin-- it took much less time to become hard under Ken's attention. "Here too," he instructed, only a very little bit breathless, spreading his knees wider, lifting one pale leg over Ken's should, and baring himself, fingers reaching between his own legs, brushing the tight ring of his unprepared entrance. But then, Ken knew how to do this, too.

The hunger that Chikusa had seen gleaming in his eyes but an hour earlier had returned, Ken's blood reheated. He was quick to take instruction in this setting, his lust never patient enough for anything but the most precursory of foreplay. And where Chikusa never bothered to couch his instructions in euphemism, blunt and straightforward, Ken never gave pause in action. His palm pressing the other's heating arousal to his stomach, he was chasing Chikusa's fingers quickly enough that his tongue grazed as they retreated. His brow knit faintly with concentration as he lapped only once and then his tongue was pushing inside, wet and strong and skilled and eager to prepare him for other things. A fingertip teased idly at the dampening tip of his arousal, ever mindful of his razor claws.

"Good," Chikusa praised him, and his voice was only a little husky as he welcomed Ken's touch, his wet, probing tongue. He'd taught Ken this too. It wasn't long before he pulled him up, fingers in his hair as the other man caught his eye curiously, waiting to hear what he wanted next. "In the tub." Chikusa's commands weren't the same as Mukuro's, almost like suggestions in comparison to the strength and insistence in their master's tone, but nonetheless, there was no reason to deny him -- particularly given the reward Ken knew he would shortly be given. "Ready yourself too," Chikusa reminded him as he stood and stepped lightly, almost gracefully into the empty bath. As Ken watched, he sat, legs stretching the length of the tub, and Chikusa felt a certain gratitude that though the room was small, the bath was large, almost enough to make him feel a child again with it's wide walls and deep basin. As he settled back, the smooth sloping porcelain was cool enough against his skin to raise gooseflesh and send a chill across his shoulders.

With a feral half-grin, Ken paused for a brief moment to peer over the edge of the tub at his prone partner before he was on his feet and tossing aside his underwear. Then with his back to the tub, he opened the small cabinet over the sink and Chikusa saw the deep shiver that tore up his spine and the cold liquid that then dripped between his thighs, leaving droplets on the tile floor. So messy. Then with a hand on the edge of the bath, Ken hopped over the porcelain wall, landing lightly in the empty basin, looming naked and blood-spattered over him like something out of a horror movie. He licked his lips. "Turn around," he growled in a voice thick with anticipation.

Chikusa sighed faintly, as though put out by Ken's demand. Of course, they both knew that he wouldn't argue or protest. Not when this was part of the plan, the routine even. He would bruise his knees like this, but even as he considered the cons, he was already turning, hands lifting to grip the end of the tub. He rested his heated cheek against the porcelain and offered himself, hips tilted up, back a pleasing curve that he knew already was to Ken's liking. "If I get tired, I'll turn back over," he made a point to say. "And make you do it face-to-face."

"Fine, fine," Ken replied impatiently, dubiously but the smooth of his calloused hands over pale thighs was appreciative. Then with the points of sharpened nails pressing just faintly, he spread Chikusa open and warm saliva dripped from his tongue, wetting him further, sending new chills over him. It was enough for Ken to decide he was ready, and with his cheek pressed between the taller man's shoulder blades, he positioned himself and pressed in with a long, appreciative groan. They were both slick and slowly but eagerly, Ken hilted himself on the first stroke, pressing their hips firmly together and staying there for a breath. His arms curled around Chikusa's frame, fingers splayed on his wide, pale chest, pressed flat against his curving back. Fitting together like pieces of a puzzle even when there were parts still missing.

Chikusa let out a long breath, felt his hair already pressing lines into his cheek, as he eased into the feeling of being filled. Ken was good, gentle when he needed to be, if Chikusa wanted him that way, and he wouldn't begin to move in earnest until he had permission. Chikusa made him wait, mostly catch his breath, but partially to be just a little cruel. He pushed back, but he delayed, removing his glasses and setting them carefully on the nearby chair.

Ken gave a quiet whine, nudging forward, dragging his nails down Chikusa's chest ever so softly. Insistent, demanding, tempting. "Kakipii..." he whined, nuzzling between Chikusa's shoulders. An admission that he needed him -- that he *wanted* him. The need to share something, to wrap himself up in the other as they did to keep themselves from drowning in loneliness. "Please."

"All right," Chikusa finally spoke, reaching back with one hand to find the side of Ken's thigh, blunt nails scraping lightly, permission given. Encouragement too. "You can do it now."

There was an uninhibited sound of relief, Ken's arms curling tighter around him as he began at last to move, his patience finally rewarded. He was slow at first nonetheless, having learned self control for the knowledge that being too rough and hasty left him out in the cold to take care of himself. Instead he sought out the rhythm that Chikusa wanted, pressing against his back and moaning his appreciation. Fingers wandered over Chikusa's chest, finding a nipple hard with cold night air and arousal and he pinched at it as his breath shuddered with the delight of slow, deep, slick pleasure. "We did good tonight, didn't we?" Ken murmured into his skin.

"Of course we did," Chikusa answered, finding his own voice already rough with pleasure. "We always do." He pushed back, spreading his knees as wide as they'd go in the small space they shared, lifting his hips, letting Ken in deeper. "Mukuro-san depends on us."

"Yeah," Ken breathed, perhaps in response or perhaps in pleasure. His tongue was hot when he licked the salt of sweat from Chikusa's back, dragged his tongue over familiar battle scars. The porcelain of the bath was icy cold under their knees, only their heated skin chasing away the chill of the dead of night. Ken's pricking nails chased goosebumps over Chikusa's skin, claiming them as his own. Up his thighs, over his hips, catching them briefly to pull them together -- he panted with delight in the tight heat, at how well his Kakipii cared for him. His fingers wandered over the hard muscle of the other's stomach, teasing him as he had been teased, never quite going where he knew Chikusa needed his touch. Listening attentively, his teeth sank lightly into the skin of his back, not drawing blood but letting himself be felt. Pay attention to me, want me, need me.

And Chikusa allowed it because he understood. He knew that Ken needed to be loved and wanted, to be used and useful. And though he was not Mukuro, Chikusa knew he could simply do his best to look after them both in their master's absence, to provide Ken the things he needed.

He shuddered under the touch of Ken's teeth, the bite of his nails. It was good like this, despite the bruising that their knees would take. "You may take what you want, Ken," he assured the other. "Don't hold back."

"Nngh..." Ken groaned his appreciation into the other's skin. He felt the wild boy plant his knees, his touch receding for a moment until it returned to curl his long, worn fingers around Chikusa's heat. His grip was wet and warm with saliva, tight around him as he stroked once, long and slow. He felt the shiver of delight that took Ken's frame and then heard the growl. Were it a scant few years ago, he wouldn't have had the concentration to keep it up, to let his stroke follow the increasing tempo of his pace that pressed Chikusa to the end of the tub. But now it was second nature, the jerk of his fingers begging for the other man to find as much pleasure in it as he did, moaning and growling into Chikusa's back for his own pleasure when his hips jerked forward but also begging for his partner's. He was noisy and messy, biting, licking, gripping a pale hip with his free hand until nails stung. "Kakipii..." he groaned, pausing in his attention to lick Chikusa's flavor from his fingers and come back slick again.

"Yes..." Chikusa answered, biting his lip against the sensation. Being here, like this, Ken inside and around him -- it was one of the only times he could ever lose himself. Stoic, unemotional, a blank slate not by choice but by conditioning, in the name of research, at the hands of a family whose name they didn't speak now, it was easy to think that Chikusa didn't feel anything at all. But first Mukuro, and now Ken, they knew how to bring the light of life to his dark eyes, even for a few brief minutes. "Harder, Ken. Please..."

Instantly Ken's hips snapped against him, driving deep and rocking him into the side of the tub. Watching the curve of his body, the sliver of face he could see from his angle, Ken's eyes glowed with a want as animal as his bloodlust when he let his untamed sides take over in battle. He growled deep in his throat, sweat beading on brow and back in spite of the cold as pleasure mounted. He bit hard at Chikusa's back, holding flesh between his teeth as though for leverage as he pounded into the other. Wordless snarls muffled into his skin, hand stroking him hard and fast, abandoned, lost in the desire to see his partner let go, to feel the shudder of his pleasure, to know he'd done right. Claws dug at Chikusa's thigh, he felt Ken struggle with holding his own premature climax back with a whimper and a falter in the rhythm -- but then there was a snarl of determination and Ken panting against his back as he laid in again, hard and fast with the other's name in breathless whispers.

"Ken..." he breathed in answer, both hands on the tub's edge now, holding, bracing himself for the onslaught of Ken's passion. He thrust back with every movement, driving him deeper, faster, their rhythm more than either should have been able to take, worn and weary from their mission. And yet here they were, mending wounds that gauze and pills could not.

Chikusa cried out, a thready moan that sounded out of place even to his own ears, but he knew Ken would like to hear it, would know from his voice that he was doing well, would know to repeat that motion, to pull Chikusa apart as only he and Mukuro knew how.

Ken's quiet keen reached his ears, broken by his gasping breath, their muscles burning with overuse, trembling with exhaustion. One arm curled around him, pressed to his chest, holding them together, Ken's front hot against his back and sweat slippery between them. Skin sharply slapping against skin and his partner's ragged breath filled his ears, Ken's urgent rhythm never slowing, but falling apart, desperation crumbling his resolve. "Please," he gasped out, begging openly, begging as he might have begged for Mukuro's touch or his mercy. "Please, Kakipii, please..." Please come for me.

Chikusa heard the words, understood them, and something in the way Ken pleaded with him, so openly and wantonly, no shame in knowing what he wanted or in asking for it... something in his voice made everything in Chikusa's middle tighten up, so hard and hot that he could barely breathe. And then, just as quickly and just as out of his control, that same something unwound, releasing him, surging through him, and his vision went red. He gasped, jerked, thrashed in Ken's grip, beneath the bony curve of Ken's body, filling himself deep and frantically as the last of his own control disintegrated. When he came, hard and shaking, crying out with wet, flushed lips and feeling every spark behind his eyes, every bruise on his skin -- when he came between Ken's rough grip and the chill embrace of porcelain, in that bright moment, Chikusa felt human again.

Distantly he heard the surprised gasp, and then the delighted moan, Ken clinging to him, riding out the grip and surge of his climax. Stroking him hard and fast through it -- panting heavy and hot on the back of his neck, chin digging in to his back as he hungrily watched Chikusa give in to passion so beautifully and completely. But then he cried out and it echoed on the hollow tile walls and he bucked hard into his partner, letting the other's throes drag out his own intense orgasm. His teeth clamped down on Chikusa's shoulder and before he could think better of it, there was fresh blood on his tongue, barely stifling the cries as he spilled hot and deep and gripped Chikusa hard enough to add new bruises.

They stayed like that, unmoving, for a long time, Ken lapping apologetically at the wound he'd created until Chikusa's legs began to ache, and Ken, soft and sleepy, slipped away from him, arms lax with energy spent. With some effort, the dark-haired man turned around, drawing Ken close again, his own arms circling gently, heedless of the new wound that bled from his shoulder. It was the kind of pain he searched for, that reminded him why they were here, alive and waiting. "We haven't bathed yet," he pointed out, cheek pressed to Ken's mussed hair. fingers tracing the bumps of Ken's spine.

"Mmmm..." Ken whined faintly, spent and satisfied and nuzzling close. "Do we have to?" Never mind that they were still peppered with bloodspray and now soaked with sweat and sticky with come.

"Yes," Chikusa answered, "You'll feel much better." Fingers wove through his hair, flecks of blood catching under his nails. "I'll wash your hair," he offered.

Ken seemed about to protest again but he hesitated thoughtfully and then nodded. The hot water was a blessed thing, particularly when drying sweat made the night's chill that much colder. Ken sat obediently in the bottom of the tub and let Chikusa hold the shower head over him, the steamy heat whisking away dried blood and sweat and the remnants of their activities. The water was dirty and pinkish as it swept across the white porcelain. He groaned with unabashed delight when Chikusa washed his hair and back and then insisted on returning the favor. Ken was quiet, blond hair dripping in his eyes as he rinsed Chikusa's hair. The water whisking this way and that, he felt the deep, ragged scars in his scalp that not even his dark hair could hide. That no one had seen but he and Mukuro, always hidden beneath that strangely cheerful hat. Perched on the edge of the tub, Ken lowered the water and bent to nuzzle into the inky wet hair, pressing a kiss there.

Chikusa shivered, unused to this particular attention, and he frowned to himself, thinking of Ken's own scars, far more visible than his own, but no less telling of their lives from before. He let his chin dip lower, felt Ken kiss the back of his neck, and, unashamed, for a moment imagined it was Mukuro's lips there. He tried to remember what it was like to cry. But he couldn't, no matter how he thought of their master's face, so he shook the thought away and turned around, dropping the stopper in place and redirecting the water to begin filling up the basin. He caught at Ken's wrists, then, tugging him back into the tub, long legs a tangle with his.

It was a tight fit, two grown men sharing a bath, no matter Chikusa's slenderness and Ken's smallish stature. But neither could find much complaint when the water crept up to their shoulders and Ken settled to rest against Chikusa's chest, otherwise fitting snugly between the basin wall and the other's body. Idly, he lifted a hand and let tiny droplets cling between the points of his claws and Chikusa's pale skin against which his cheek rested. "Soon, I think," he said suddenly, softly. His already husky voice was faintly raspy after a night filled with cries of battle and passion. "We'll have him back soon. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Chikusa found himself agreeing, though out of true instinct or only a half-desperate surge of hope, even he couldn't be sure. He watched the water ripple around their tired bodies and thought he almost feel the way his blood stirred when Mukuro was close. "Soon. I think so too. We've been very good."

"Mmm," Ken agreed blissfully and seemed to take some great comfort in these words, baring his teeth in a wide grin. He tilted his head and nuzzled deeply, affectionately under Chikusa's chin and then laid his head down on the other's chest. "Very good." His arm curled around the taller man's waist and he felt Ken relax utterly against him, eyes closing. It wasn't but a few breaths before he fell asleep, exhausted, even though the bath water was still steaming hot.

Chikusa didn't mind. He'd as much as expected it after the evening's multiple work outs and to even ask Ken to stay awake long enough to be bathed after sex was... well, asking a lot of the other man. It was enough, though, to be like this, up to his shoulders in the embrace of warm water, Ken's body real and present, something he could touch, hold onto.


End file.
